


Quiet Cover of Night

by CherryK



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Anxiety, Idiots to Lovers but they're stuck in the Idiots phase, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Sharon Rainsworth (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 10:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryK/pseuds/CherryK
Summary: Xerxes and Reim spend the night at an inn in Reveille after attempting to track down an illegal contractor. Much to Reim's dismay, the only room left available features a double bed, and Xerxes insists they share...
Relationships: Xerxes Break/Reim Lunettes
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	Quiet Cover of Night

**Author's Note:**

> Two new uploads in a week, who is she??
> 
> I'm not gonna lie, this was sitting in my drafts for over two damn years and it haunted me. I finally got off my ass and decided it's time to beat the shit out of it and post it. It was a bitch to write for some reason. Here ya gO!

Reim Lunettes slowly takes his glasses off, moving to wipe imaginary dust off the lenses with his sleeve. As well as he manages to hide the shaking of his hands, he cannot quite suppress the tremor in his voice.

“E-excuse me, did you say double room?”

The front desk clerk smiles at him apologetically. “Yes, Sir… unfortunately that is all we have left for the night.”

Apparently his desperation must have been evident, as she immediately offers another solution: “I understand if this is unacceptable. Of course I can also arrange for an additional camp bed to be brought up to your room…”

An elbow connects uncomfortably with Reim’s ribs as Xerxes pushes him aside. The man waves an overlong sleeve at the clerk, a most polite grin gracing his features. “By all means, that shan’t be necessary, eh Mister Reim? We wouldn’t want to cause trouble, and besides…” He turns to face Reim – his grin is entirely too wide and frozen in place, “such a camp bed would surely cause a backache, no?”

Reim feels himself shrink under Xerxes’ gaze. He has no clue what game he’s playing this time, but – as is the norm – it can hardly end well. He exhales, avoiding that piercing red eye but still very vividly feeling it watching him, and instead turns his attention to the rather puzzled-looking clerk. “Indeed, it’s… quite alright, ma’am, thank you.”

With those words their room is booked; Reim’s fate sealed.

They spend the rest of the day combing through Reveille in search for a sign of the illegal contractor. At the end of it, and much to Reim’s dismay, they have nothing to report. They retreat to the inn they’ve rented the room in and plan to stand by until further notice – the night patrol will take over from here.

Anxiety settles in Reim’s gut, not much unlike the dark of night settles over the city on their way back. Xerxes stretches beside him, the stick of a lollipop he has bullied him into buying from a street vendor poking from the corner of his mouth.

“My my, why sho g’um, Mister Reim? Shertain’y the night patro’ wi’ bring back shome resu’ts for you to add to your preshioush report?”

“That’s not it, I-“

Xerxes removes the lollipop from his mouth with a loud  _ pop,  _ and Reim forces himself to study the cobblestones at his feet instead. “What is it then?”

He represses the urge to clean his glasses yet again. He cannot possibly voice what the real issue is. The very real, very nerve-wracking, ever-present issue Reim has been dealing with in meticulously maintained silence for… who knows how long, really. It’s been months, maybe years. Too much time spent in hiding, looking for a sign, for any kind of hint that Xerxes might feel the same way as him, and now they’ll be sharing the same bed for an entire night. Surely, if he were to find out, Reim would only drive him away, and-

“Ne, are you even listening?” Xerxes waves the sugary treat around in front of his face, forces him to stop in his tracks.

He puts on a smile. “I’m fine, Xerx, just a little tired.”

The look in Xerxes’ eye tells him that he doesn’t believe a single word. The lollipop disappears between the man’s lips again, followed by a grisly crunching sound. “Hmmm, is that so… Well, it’s a good thing you won’t have to sleep on a creaky camp bed tonight, then, eh?”

Reim decides to leave his question unanswered, which the shorter man mercifully lets slide as the inn comes into view around the corner. He will have to confront the matter at hand soon enough, anyway. What little time there is left he will use to steel himself.

Having reached their room, Xerxes immediately flops face-down onto the bed. His voice comes out muffled by fabric.

“’s quite comfy, this one.”

Reim huffs. “Won’t you at least take your shoes off?”

He stays there, a bundle of dishevelled clothing and hair, and shakes his head into the mattress a little. Reim watches him for a moment – Xerx has his antics, but he’s never able to stay angry with him long. In a sense, it can be quite endear- Reim inhales sharply, dismissing the thought. He discards his own outerwear and heads for the bathroom to clean up.

In front of the bathroom mirror Reim takes off his spectacles, braces his hands against the basin and gives himself a stern look. He’s gotten himself into this and he’s going to get himself out of this. It’s just Xerxes.

_ Just Xerxes. _

Reim sighs.  _ Just Xerxes _ can mean an entire litany of things, and in Reim’s case there are  _ feelings _ involved, most certainly unrequited ones. And now, the moment he steps out of this bathroom, he’ll have to spend the night in unprecedentedly close proximity with the white-haired airhead and act as though none of it is doing things to him. The man in the mirror inhales, holds his breath, and does his best to exhale again calmly. He’s simply going to pretend there is nothing – absolutely nothing – unusual about it. Sharing a bed with Xerxes Break.

_ Just _ Xerxes Break, he reminds himself.

Upon returning to the bedroom, Reim finds that Xerxes has at least had the decency to get rid of his outerwear. Boots and coat lie in a sad heap on the floor by the end of the bed. Xerxes himself, much less sad, sits cross-legged and barefooted in the centre of the bed and reads a note. Reim picks up the faint aura of a chain that has recently disappeared again.

“Any updates?” He crosses over to the bed, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Looks like you’ll get to your beloved report writing sooner than expected, Mister Reim.” Xerxes waves the piece of paper around in front of his face before handing it to him, “Miss Sharon brings good news.”

Reim skims it quickly – a missive from Pandora headquarters, signed by Lady Sharon Rainsworth herself, informing them that they are to depart for debriefing in the early morning hours. The night patrol has managed to apprehend the rogue contractor.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Why, that was quick. To think we didn’t even see so much as a trace of them earlier…”

“…and now all’s done and we’ve no more work to do until we get back to Pandora tomorrow, isn’t that nice?” Xerxes lets himself fall back onto the pillows, arms and legs spread out on either side.

“It’s not like you do an awful lot of work  _ at _ Pandora either, Xerx,” Reim mutters more to himself than to the starfish currently occupying the bed. Xerxes hears him anyway, propping himself up on his elbows, and batting his lone eye at him.

“Tell me, Mister Reim, what is a man supposed to do when a  _ certain somebody _ writes reports so much better than him~?”

A compliment on his work ethics should  _ not  _ be causing his cheeks to heat up that way. He quickly bends down to pick up Xerxes’ crumpled white coat off the floor, and flings it at his head. It hits him square in the face. “You need to get cleaned up and rest. We have to be up at sunrise tomorrow, if we are to make it back before midday.”

Once Xerxes has begrudgingly trudged off towards the bathroom Reim sits down on the edge of the bed. He takes off his glasses and places them on the nightstand, as carefully as the tremor in his hands will allow. The space the other had occupied moments before still holds warmth, and Reim withdraws further onto his side of the bed. His heart clenches at the thought of sharing that warmth, of being so close-

Abyss swallow him whole; he’d need to get it back together, and quickly. Reim grimaces, turns to face the far wall, and makes it a point to draw the covers up to his chin. He is too focused on drowning out the cascade of his own racing thoughts to notice Xerxes’ return.

“Now, you certainly are doing your best to risk falling out of bed some time during the night, Mister Reim, what with you lying so close to the edge.” His voice is laced with amusement and… something else, something more bitter that Reim can’t quite put a finger on.

Reim’s fingers dig into the sheets. “Shut up and sleep already, Xerx!”

For once, surprisingly, Xerxes actually obliges. Reim can feel the gaze of a lone red eye boring into the back of his head, and he wonders what sort of emotion it carries. He dares not turn to look.

“Why, if you so insist… sweet dreams, Mister Reim.”

The shorter man climbs into bed and struggles with his own covers for a moment. The oil lamp resting on the bedside table is soon extinguished, leaving them in darkness. Reim hears Xerxes exhale loudly through his nose and wonders if his words have come out too harshly.

Reim spends too long thinking about whether he should say something, whether he should apologize, or whether he should pretend this never happened at all. The following silence stretches, and so does the uneasiness he feels crawling under his skin. 

He’s known Xerxes for fifteen long years now, and, in a way, things between them have always been… complex. From the very beginning, after they had found him battered and bloodied outside the Rainsworths’ Door to the Abyss, Reim has held a certain fascination with the other. Xerxes used to lash out at him then, impatiently, and with something akin to fear in his lone eye. Yet Reim persisted, stubbornly so throughout the years.

After all this time, he still hasn’t worked up the courage to ask him how he ended up at the Rainsworths’ doorstep that night. He’s found himself halfway there many times before, but never followed through in the end, knowing better than to pick at old wounds. Although the mystery remains, Xerxes has since become a constant in his life. Judging from how the man no longer shies away like he used to, Reim is quite certain that he must also have taken a liking to him in turn. He is, however, less than ready to test the durability of their bond. They shouldn’t be this close, no matter if Reim has yearned for it for longer than he’s willing to admit to himself. One wrong move, one wrong word might shatter it all into a million pieces.

The moment passes eventually, and Xerxes’ breathing begins to even out. It seems at least one of them is drifting off to sleep. He wraps himself tighter into the blanket.

_ It's just Xerxes. _

He listens to the sound of the other’s breathing, attempting to match the calm rhythm with his own. In, out. In, out.

_ Just Xerxes _ , he thinks. Reim pinches the bridge of his nose and finally wills himself to turn and face Xerxes’ side of the bed. In the dark of the room and without his spectacles, he can barely make out the rise and fall of the other’s chest.

It would be easy to brush his knuckles against the fabric of Xerxes’ nightshirt, to feel the warmth of his body beneath it. He tucks his hands away safely underneath the covers, lest he act recklessly on a whim. There is no way Xerxes would ever feel the same for him.

Perhaps Reim would do good to try and treasure this moment. Surely there will be few, if none like it again any time soon. To have Xerxes, a man ever on the lookout for the next threat, trusting him like this while asleep and vulnerable, is a strangely intimate sort of privilege he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Reim won’t ask much of him. If this precious trust is what he is willing to extend to him, he will accept it without hesitation. He will guard it fiercely for as long as he can, and try his hardest to keep it intact, through whatever means necessary.

Xerxes stirs and rolls over. Reim quickly shuts his eyes, yet in his anxious state, he would not even fool a child into believing he’s asleep. His too-quick heartbeat resonates in his ears. No further movement can be felt, and Reim opens his eyes again, finding himself face-to-face with him. Though blurry with bad eyesight, he doesn’t remember ever seeing Xerxes looking so peaceful. No too-broad grin is spread across his features; he truly seems serene.

Before he can stop himself, Reim has reached out to readjust a stray white strand of hair. He pulls back his hand as if singed, any hopes he may have still had of catching rest that night vanishing in but a moment. Xerxes merely sighs, content as he is, and Reim commits the image to memory. His status as a servant to Duke Barma has made him the custodian of many a strange secret, but this one is his and his alone to keep.

* * *

Morning announces itself in a coat of blue, the room’s silhouettes slowly taking shape again. It’s too early for sunrise, but the concept of time has stopped mattering to Reim a good while ago. His hands and feet are cold. He feels hollow and drained, as though he’s spent the entire night awake going over paperwork instead of lying awake in bed. Yet another impossibly long hour passes before Xerxes awakes, looking decidedly more rested than himself.

They dress in silence, and Reim can’t help but feel Xerxes’ scrutinizing gaze upon him once more. It doesn’t seem to leave him as they return the keys to the room and arrange payment, not even as they walk the short way back to one of Reveille’s busier roads to board their carriage back to Pandora.

Nonchalantly Xerxes slides into the seat next to Reim, even though he could have an entire bench to himself opposite of him. Reim no longer finds it in himself to be bothered by it; he's worn as though he'd run for miles, and relieved to have lived through the night. The first thing he plans to do once they've finished debriefing is to lock himself in his office. There’s only the carriage ride left, and although it strikes him as somewhat odd, part of him is glad that Xerxes hasn’t said a single word to him yet. Reim settles more comfortably into his seat. Soon enough, the gentle rocking of the carriage pulls him under and the world fades as exhaustion finally catches up with him.

* * *

Xerxes sits and contemplates, watching the scenery drift by outside. Has he gone too far with his little spontaneous experiment, with denying that separate bed? Yes, he can now be quite sure that he hasn't been imagining the subtle changes in Reim's demeanor around him, but he would never have dreamt that the man would become so wound up over the idea of sharing a bed for one night.

He searches Reim's face, takes in the paleness of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes. This is one of the very few people he feels  _ safe _ around. It's impossible to deny at this point that he's grown rather fond of Reim over the years. He knows what it means to be thinking about someone at odd hours, to consider how holding their hand would make the day just a little brighter.

Still, what use is it, with Xerxes' body bound to give in before they could ever achieve any sense of happiness? He grimaces. Better to continue as they are, than to burden Reim with his truths and burn for it in the end.

The impact of Reim's sleeping form slumping into his side startles him from his thoughts. The carriage has taken a turn, resulting in the taller man now leaning against his arm, glasses askew. 

Xerxes selfishly decides not to wake him, shifts just a little to steady him. Reim is too warm, and too comfortable against him. He will just brush it off as nothing special when they arrive. Perhaps Reim will be inclined to agree to act as if this entire mission has never happened. He will need to make amends for the bed matter eventually. Yet maybe, just maybe, he can allow himself to keep this one memory, a mere echo of what could be if their situation was a different one.

For the remainder of the ride home, Xerxes doesn't move an inch.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and the most important question, did Victorian-ish bathrooms even have any mirrors? I like to think so, but I honestly don't know, and I was too lazy to google it. Either way, what's done is done.
> 
> Appreciate any comments or kudos <3


End file.
